


The Lost One: Lavellan's Promise

by Killbotwhore



Series: The Lost One [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathvhen, Dancing, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Future Female Lavellan/Solas, Going Home, M/M, Mentions of Physical and Sexual Abuse, Modern Girl in Thedas, Music, Off-screen Relationship(s), Past Character Death, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Self-Blame, Singing, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killbotwhore/pseuds/Killbotwhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WIP - Any edits will be announced in the Author's Notes.</p><p>Elven legend said that the lost child would reemerge when demons reigned and the Wolf reached for glory. Little did she, the college student, know it spoke of her.</p><p>On her way home from practice, she is jumped by a group of men and beaten almost to death. Just before she passes out, she is transported into Thedas where she is taken care of by clan Lavellan. When she wakes up, she doesn't know where she is or how to get home. Is there anyone who might know more about this thing called "the Fade"? And where can she find them? On her journey to get back home, she grows attached to the people helping her, and when she finally finds someone who could be able to help her, does she really want to go back?</p><p>University studies creates a slow writer. A slow writer makes for slow (and irregular) updates. Sorry!<br/>Edited Tags as the previous ones were more applicable to the entire series than this specific work. Tags will be updated with every posted chapter. There will be Lavellan/Solas in the next installment though, so don't worry! Heartache aplenty!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prologue
> 
> Translations now available via hover (if supported by your browser)!

Disregarding everything she had ever learned about moving in the forest, she barged through it at breakneck speed, every breath burning her throat with heat and smoke. Every step strained the fabric of her already frazzled footwraps as they got caught on sticks and thorns laying on the ground. Jagged rocks along the path cut her feet and left them bruised and bloody, begging for her to slow. But she could not stop, not even for a moment.  If she did, she might not be able to start running again. She could smell the burned ends of her hair and hear the crackling of the fire behind her. Pushing herself to the limit, she continued on through the trees, their lowest branches leaving bloody tracks on her face. With groans of pain and frustration, she clutched the bundle in her arms tighter as sweat trickled into her wounds and flames licked at her heels. She knew there would not be a rescue waiting for her in the distance, the settlements of her people were too far apart, and the way back was cut off. Her only hope was to outrun the roaring wildfire, but even her light feet could not carry her fast enough. She was tiring fast, the magical barrier protecting her and the numerous cuts on her skin stole whatever energy she needed to push herself forward. She could not, would not, give up. The bundle in her arms cried out as lightning split the night sky and thunder closely followed with its deafening rumble. Her sensitive, pointed ears exploded as another lightning bolt hit a tree in front of her, causing it to burst into flames. She tried to keep her momentum as she skidded sideways to avoid the now falling tree in front of her. 

"Mythal ghi’la ma!"

Desperation flowed through her like a current, and tears began to pour down her face, stinging as they made contact with the still open wounds on her cheeks. Her legs burned with exertion and the muscles began to protest her mad race against the forces of nature. When she sensed movement from her bundle, she moved her eyes from the path ahead. One second was all it took for her to misstep. In a desperate attempt to protect her bundle, she twisted in mid-air and curled. She felt nothing until her back crashed to the ground, leaving grooves in the dirt behind her as the momentum carried her forward. Her body came to a sudden stop against a boulder which knocked the wind out of her lungs with a loud crack. A dull ache in her shoulder, which had bore the brunt of her weight as she fell, slowed her movements and the hit to her chest left her unable to breathe properly. A few seconds passed before she was back on her feet, ready to run again. One step, and she felt her ankle bend in an unnatural angle and falling back down, she heard a sharp crack in her ribcage. 

“Din! Din, din, din, din, din!”

She tried to stand up once more and continue running, but again she fell down, every breath torturous, burning on the way in and leaving a stabbing ache behind. The flames around her roared and she coughed, red liquid splattering the hand she held in front of her face. She felt the world come crashing down around her as the last shred of hope died with the crimson dots on her skin. Tears welled in her eyes and her vision blurred as she lay down on the ground, embracing the bundle gently. 

Sobs wracked her body and made pain shoot through her torso, rewarding her with another cough and ever more crimson condemnations on her hand. A hand she furiously, desperately, wiped clean. A hand that shook as it moved the fabric of the bundle in front of her. A hand that lovingly caressed a round cheek. 

“Ir abelas, emma lath.”

Two bright green eyes locked onto hers before another sob wracked her again, leaving her feeling weak and exhausted. She pulled the bundle closer and wrapped herself around it before crying out into the night.

“Mythal! Ir isala mala halani sahlin!”

She tried to be brave in the face of her imminent death, but still cried in terror of the unknown. Even though she was not alone on the ground, she faced death and its inevitability by herself, grieving the joys she would never experience and regretting opportunities passed. 

“Ir abelas, ir abelas da’vhenan.”

With a kiss, she curled up around her bundle of joy, as if trying to shield it from the imminent flames and block out the roar of destruction that had followed her. The heat crept closer by the second, licking her legs in long strokes, leaving blisters in their wake. A ragged scream tore itself from her throat as her skin boiled, before the blackness of death overtook her and she saw no more. 

The child cried for her unresponsive mother as the flames crept closer and closer, temporarily kept back by her mother’s body and rapidly weakening barrier. As all seemed lost, the small clearing in which they lay were flooded in green light, hurling the child through the void as it screamed for her mother. The green light shone brighter and brighter until it disappeared completely, leaving the child suddenly alone and wailing on a doorstep.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:  
> Mythal ghi'la ma! - Mythal guide me!  
> Din - No  
> Ir abelas emma lath. - I'm sorry my love.  
> Mythal! Ir isala mala halani sahlin! - Mythal! I am in need of your help now  
> Ir abelas, ir abelas da'vhenan. - I'm sorry, I'm sorry little heart.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


	2. Anya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Threat of Rape/Attempted Rape - non-graphic  
> Warning: Physical abuse - mentioned, non-graphic

The screeching of her phone woke her up from a dreamless sleep. With her heart pounding, as it always did in reaction to the alarm, Anya hit the snooze-button and tried to fall back asleep. Just a few more minutes, she thought. Sleep evaded her as her heart still pounded against her chest. She always set her alarm to be really loud so that she wouldn’t snooze the day away, something she used to do in her teens. Setting the alarm to frighten her in the morning seemed to do the trick though and when the alarm rang the second time, she shut it off and got out of bed. She yawned and stretched, feeling blood rush to her extremities, preparing them for what the day had in store. In the still dark room, she fumbled for some clothes, snatching up a pair of jeans from the floor and a shirt from the chair at her desk. Somewhat dressed, she moved to the bathroom to start her day. 

The mirror image of herself stared back sleepily at the bird’s nest on top of her head; big, fiery red curls made for really bad bed hair. She had half a mind to just toss it in a bun and be on her way before she remembered why she could not. Her hands moved by their own volition and began to untangle the mess, leaving dozens of hairs in the sink before her.  Sadness flashed across her face as her hands went to the tips of her hair, still able to feel the effects of the bleach; her ends in a frizzy mess of snarls and split ends. When the hair was untangled enough, she started to braid it, just like her parents had done when she was younger, before she rebelled against them and everything they had stood for. The braids went tightly across the pointed tips of her ears, pressing them gently but firmly to her skull; and to the back of her head, where they were pinned in place. The braids did not only cover the ears she once thought were beautiful, but also the scars from the piercings she had once put in them. She had flaunted her pointed ears, adorning them with rings and studs and chains to draw ever more attention to them, keeping her unnaturally dyed blue hair shaved on one side of her head to enhance the impact made by them. She thought they made her exotic, desirable. When she combined the look with dark, heavy eyeliner she thought herself peregrine. 

That all changed after Aidan. While others saw her as a sexual fantasy come to life and subsequently tried to take advantage of her youth, Aidan did no such thing. He saw her as a rare, exotic bird, too precious to be exposed to such cruel behavior. He had given her tenderness where others had given her lies, romance where others had been vulgar and soft kisses when others had ravished her. 

Time showed however, that Aidan saw her as a bird to be caged, bound and grounded, only to be observed through metal bars or a pane of glass. She was a trophy for his collection and his possessiveness showed more and more as the months went on. It started small; asking her to sleep at his place as much as possible, checking her phone when she came home, asking her who she had talked to during the day and confronting anyone who showed any interest in knowing her. It had only escalated from there. If she wasn’t home within a certain time, he would insist on driving her to and from wherever she needed to go the following week. After a few rounds of this, he started doing it whether she had been late or not.

The first time she had argued with him, he had slapped her hard enough for her teeth to clatter in her mouth. It wasn’t his fault. She had just made him so angry that he couldn’t stop himself. He was so sorry and could she ever forgive him? Being young, in love and naive, she had of course forgiven him. During the following months she developed a clumsiness she had never before displayed; walking into doors and falling down the stairs every other week.

Her love for him was slowly overshadowed by her fear of him. She started deleting any texts she sent and received, only to save herself from another beating if he didn’t like what he saw. She would flinch whenever someone near her raised their hands quickly. The constant fight-or-flight mode was incredibly draining and soon, the friends she had been able to keep from Aidan noticed something was up. They made her realize that he had put her in a gilded cage and hadn’t even needed to put a lock on the door. She was too afraid to leave on her own, and despite his abuses, he had been kind to her initially, leaving her wanting for more. 

With the help of her friends and family, she had realized that this was not what love was supposed to be. They all supported her when she cut her ties with him, her parents had been especially supportive in the following months, helping her file a police report and finding a therapist she liked.

In the end, she had not been the one to pay for her mistake of ever loving Aidan. Her mind started to swirl towards the vortex of darkness that embodied her guilt and sorrow, but before it managed to grab hold of her, she tore herself away with the practiced motions of picturing her parents where they were at their best, smiling and happy. She hummed a few notes of Beethoven’s 9th, their favorite, and smiled. It helped picturing them like that; captivated, entranced by the music, and oblivious to their violent end. 

She finished her braids with a loving thought to the people who raised her, smiled at her reflection in the mirror and left the bathroom. 

A travel mug of coffee was prepared and she set about to leave; putting on her boots and making sure she brought everything she needed for the day. Her bag was full with the books she needed and her guitar was by the door, ready to go. She had a thing for string instruments, her having played the violin up until she, as a teenager, became aware of how embarrassing it was to play the _violin_ and replaced it with (the much cooler) guitar. Even though she loved the guitar, the violin still held a special place in her heart as it had been a gift from her dad, hoping to make her feel more comfortable among her new family.

She had picked it up again after the accident, wanting to pay homage to her parents in the best way possible by playing their wedding song at their funeral. 

With a glance at the clock she put on her coat and hurried out the door, locked it behind her and skipped down the stairs. She hadn’t bothered changing from the clothes she found on the floor earlier, the stress of performing at the spring concert in a few weeks made everyone tired, as such she would not be the only one wearing floor-fashion today. 

It wasn’t until lunch that she had a moment to breathe, sitting down with some friends. She was starving and shoved her mouth with food as fast as possible and didn’t really listen to them until they mentioned a familiar name. 

“I would have loved to work for John Williams someday. He had this way of coaxing the best out of everyone in the orchestra.”

“My parents went to see him once, they say it was the best performance they have ever seen.”

“It’s such a shame what happened.”

“Wait, what happened to him?”

“He died in a car crash a few years ago. I heard it was one of his musicians who went on a rampage against him and his family.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, they say it was revenge for getting him fired.”

“That’s horrible!”

“I heard they waited for help for like an hour…”

“It wasn’t a musician.” Anya interrupted solemnly. 

“What was that?”

“I said it wasn’t a musician.”

“Well who was it then?” 

“I-…” 

Anya fell silent again and pressed her lips into a thin line before hurriedly walking away from the group. Her dad had been a prominent figure in the classical music scene of New York, conducting several big numbers at Carnegie Hall. Ever since the accident, rumors had been making their rounds on the scene and made living with the guilt unbearable. She was lucky that she had had Natalie to shield her from the brunt of it when she was still staying in New York, trying to finish the last semester of high school. It was hard being _that girl_ , the one everyone wanted to confirm their rumors with, to be constantly reminded of her loss and her guilt. To be able to live life, she had decided not to be _that girl_ in Boston and consequently never told anyone that John Williams was her father. Not that anyone bothered to ask anyway, they all having parents involved in the scene in a more or less important way. 

To call them friends might be to overstate things. They were nice enough, hung out in school and went to a few parties together, but none of them really knew her. Maybe one day she would be brave enough to share her past with them, but if she knew herself as well as she thought she did, she might never tell them. 

Feeling the eyes of her friends on her back as she left them, she hurried to the bathroom to handle her guilt. Wiping her tears on the back of her hand, she forced the image of her parents happy and smiling into her head for the second time that day. Pushing the darkness away and taking a few deep breaths, she exited the bathroom and went readily to face the rest of her day and the hours and hours of rigorous rehearsal that came with it. 

It was late when she came home, darkness enveloping the world around her and exhaustion settling in her bones. She rummaged through the freezer for something to microwave before she starved to death, settling on some kind of pasta dish. While waiting for her ‘gourmet’ dinner to get ready, she went through the mail her roommate, Hope, had placed on the counter. They missed each other at home all the time, Hope  usually asleep by the time Anya came home from rehearsal for the spring concert. This was not strange as the roles had been reversed the previous year. As she went through the pile of junk mail and clothing catalogs she’d never touch again, she found a letter. 

_ Hi Anya!  _

__ I hope everything is going alright up there in Boston.  I’m pregnant again! With a girl this time. John and I are thinking about naming her Mary, after your mother. Would you be okay with that?  
__ I know I don’t write as often as I should, but I hope you know that I’ll always be here for you if you need me. Speaking of, how are you holding up?  
_ I would love for you to come visit some time, but I understand if it is too hard. Spending 8 months of the worst time of your life here doesn’t exactly make for happy memories.  
_ __ As always; my phone number is at the bottom, I don’t know if you lose it or just don’t use it, but I’ll include it until you do. 

_ Love you always.  
_ _ Natalie _

As promised, a phone number was scribbled at the bottom, a number Anya had entered into her phone a long time ago, but never used. She couldn’t bring herself to contact her directly, despite her being her best friend, opting instead for the occasional letter. Natalie had been there for her after the accident, giving her a place to live while she finished the last year of high school. Anya remembered how Natalie had visited her in the hospital after she had been told about her parents’ fate. How Natalie and her parents had been her rock in the stormy sea of lawyers and negotiations that followed when she couldn’t face Aidan after what he had done. 

Putting the letter on the counter to be answered at a later date, she checked up on the processed garbage in the microwave, finding it to be nearly done. Curling up on the couch she began to eat, feeling more bloated for every bite. 

“I really need to lay off the junk food.” She said to herself, promising herself to make time for ju-jutsu class the next day and eat actual meals, at least for the rest of the week. 

With such little spare time, she hadn’t had the time to train as much as she used to, let alone cook or be home for dinner. Despite her roommate leaving her lunch boxes, she never had the energy to prepare them in the evenings and all too often forgot them in the morning rush. It didn’t help that the idea of standing on the stage - in front of so many people - terrified her and made her lose her appetite. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the audience, she was afraid of her own physical reaction. Ever since she first stood on a stage, she got the feeling that the world was wrong, askew or something. It made her sick to her stomach, which in turn made her very nervous every time she was in the spotlight. She continued though, since she loved playing and sharing pieces of herself through music. Ju-jutsu made her feel in control over her own body and its responses, letting her get rid of the pent up frustrations after endless rehearsals. She tried to get to a class once a week, but sometimes her crazy schedule made it impossible. Before attending college, she had trained religiously, loving the way the exercise made her feel in control, 

Exhausted, Anya fell into bed and with the prospect of training tomorrow, a small smile formed on her lips as she fell into a deep sleep. 

 

Finishing the last of her morning coffee, Anya moved towards the front door. She grabbed her bag of ju-jutsu gear and her guitar and headed out to rehearsal. Walking out the door, she popped her earbuds in and started the day with some blood pumping music while she skipped down the stairs of her building and out the door. A few strands of her red locks escaped from their tight braided prison and blew in front of her face and with shivering hands, she pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt. On her way to campus, she started to mentally prepare for the long day of hard rehearsals that awaited her by picturing herself standing on the college stage in front of an empty auditorium. The exercise was somewhat effective against her nausea and in her mind, she played perfectly, not a single missed note and she soared through the song as if the last months' weather hadn't had an impact on her singing voice. Sure that she would have another day filled with exhausting exercises for her voice and never ending practice on the guitar, she couldn't help but long for the day to be over and for her to reclaim control over her body in the Dojo.

Rehearsal had run late again and to be able to make it in time for jiu-jitsu she would have to postpone dinner. Again. She had planned to grab a bite to eat with her classmates, but as rehearsals dragged on she had been forced to cancel. With her stomach beginning to protest the lack of nutrients she ran towards the bus stop, her guitar bouncing awkwardly against her back as she did. Twenty minutes later, the bus stopped in front of the Dojo and she rushed to the changing rooms where she hurriedly changed into her gear. With a few minutes to spare she entered the Dojo itself while still tying the plain black belt around her waist. When she finished, Sensei Louis came up to her and they began to chat as they watched the other students enter and begin to settle down.

"Anya! Long time no see. How are you doing?" he asked.

Anya flinched at the mention of her name, as she did every time she heard it. The response was automatic and annoying as she believed it should have gone away as she grew older. The orphanage named her after the Anastasia movie, her being an orphan and a red-head, and her parents had liked it enough to keep it. But Anya herself had never liked it and had always unconsciously flinched away from it. The name grated and chafed against her very being, her soul, every time she heard it in reference to her. Shaking her head to rid herself of the small grimace that always followed her name being mentioned, she said: 

"Well enough. Rehearsals are really intense at the moment and it might be a few weeks before I am able to come back."

"That's a shame. We all miss having you around. But you have the big concert coming up right?"

"Yeah, I'm doing a solo and its really working me up." she said with a frown.

"Still throwing up huh?"

The concern in his voice touched her deeply and with a sad smile she said:

"Yeah, I don't know why it frightens me so much. I know I'm good at what I do and I love doing it, but every time I'm up on the stage it just feels wrong."

"Well," Louis started. "We all look forward to see the show and good luck with the solo!"

When Anya tensed at his words he quickly corrected himself and winked.

"I mean, um, break a leg."

"Isn't that what we're supposed to do today?" she said as she lifted her hands and made gunfingers at him. With a cheeky smile she winked and lowered her hands.

"I certainly hope we don't actually do that!" he laughed.

And with that, Sensei Louis addressed the rest of the students.

 

When class was over, Anya and Louis stayed behind and did some sparring before heading off to the showers. Anya had always stayed behind as she didn't want to show anyone her deformity any more. It had been a shameful thing when she was younger, before she started to relish being different and exotic. When the kids in school had started to tease her about it, her parents opted to hide it until she was old enough to decide for herself what she wanted to do. They braided her hair tightly around her head and over her pointy ears. It could be painful at times and now, after an evening of exercise she longed to set them free for a while before the ride home. She undid her braids and carefully massaged the tender tips of her ears before stepping into the shower and relishing in the feeling of clear water running down her warm and exhausted body. Only a few minutes later, her stomach rumbled viscously and she quickly finished her shower. After drying off and dressing, she braided her hair again and picked up her things, deciding to, despite her vow the day before, pick up some Chinese food from a place a few blocks away and since the bus wouldn't come for 20 minutes, she began walking. With her earbuds in and the music loud, she didn't realize she was being followed.

 

The group of young men advanced on her, surprising her by pressing a knife to her back and completely surrounding her. The man directly in front of her reached out and ripped out her earbuds, smiling mockingly. 

"Hey girl. Watcha doing out so late huh?" 

The group snickered and the knife at her back pressed closer as the front man flashed her a wicked smile, drawing another blade from somewhere and placing it against her jaw, the tip tickling her earlobe. She could feel it cutting through her skin and a trickle of blood dripped down her neck, staining her sweater red. 

"How about you hand over everything in that bag of yours?" the man said.

"And your pockets!" jeered another one.

Her hands shook with fear as she hurriedly handed her phone and wallet to the group, after having her bag of ju-jutsu gear torn from her grasp. Somehow, they managed to wrestle her guitar off her back while still keeping the knife in place just below her ribcage. When all of her possessions were gone, she expected them to leave. When they leered at her and let their eyes wander, she realized they had something else in mind. 

"Take off your coat, pretty girl."

"No!" she pleaded. "Please, no! Don't do this."

With a few sharp tugs the group wrestled the coat off of her and when she stood crying and shivering in her jeans and sweater, they started to move. They pushed her into an alleyway not far away where one of them pressed himself against her back, aligning his hips with hers, and started to laugh as she tried to get away. She was more scared than she had ever been in her life, but she had trained for this, she knew what she had to do even if she had never had so many opponents before or as much riding on her success. With her hands raised, as if she was giving up, she dodged away from the knife at her throat and grabbed the frontman's wrist as she yanked the knife-wielding hand away from her face.  In the same motion she placed her other hand behind his elbow and twisted leaving the man to fall into the one behind her. In the commotion that followed she broke free of their intimidating circle and tried to run towards the main street. A wall of arms caught her and threw her back into the alley, making her stumble just as the leader rose to his feet, clutching his elbow. 

“You FUCKING bitch! You’ll fucking pay for that!” 

The spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted at her, almost feral in his rage. The group closed in on her again and when one reached for her throat, she immediately threw one of her hands in his face, pushing it backwards, while grabbing his arm with the other. With a sidestep and a turn, she brought him down on the ground and put her knee in his back. Using all her strength she then twisted his arm backwards. With a crack and a scream, his shoulder dislocated and she was quickly up on her feet before any of the other gang members could react. 

“Make me. I dare you.”

She knew she shouldn’t have taunted him, but she couldn’t help herself from trying to put down the men who were trying to abuse her. The leader was snarling, his face distorted with fury. She immediately realized that her attempt to scare them away had failed and that they now were out for revenge, and revenge alone. Shaky, but confident in her abilities, she felt she could take them on, if she was lucky.

“Get her, you pussies!”

One of the men lunged for her, but with a block and quick throw over her shoulder, he had the wind knocked out of him. Not having time to incapacitate him, she quickly lunged to her feet as another one came at her. She took a blow to the side of her chest and felt the wind go out of her a little before she blocked and put her hands together. She quickly twisted her torso and brought her elbow backwards where it connected with a face. The leader sprawled behind her, still holding his knife, but with a nasty swelling around his right eye.

“AAAAH! YOU **BITCH**! YOU **FUCKING** BITCH! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

He dove for her with his knife outstretched and pure fury glowing in his eyes. She caught the hand holding the knife and turned around, leaving his arm locked between hers and her body. She twisted and pulled as she brought his hand closer. The knife fell to the ground and with a deafening crack his elbow bent backwards. The leader screamed savagely into the ground and stayed down, whimpering from pain. With her attention focused on the man in front of her, she failed to notice the others creeping up behind her until something sharp nestled between her ribs. As she turned around to face the new threat, the blade withdrew and blood started to gush out of the wound. Trying to ignore the pain and push through, she wobbled a few steps closer to the man with the bloody knife, but all her energy seemed to seep out through the hole in her back and as she stumbled, she saw a knee entering her field of vision. In the next moment, a flash of green light and a sharp crack rang through her skull, leaving her temporarily blinded. Blood started to pour down her throat, threatening to choke her and she fell to the ground. Disoriented, she was unable to defend herself against the incoming kicks and fists and couldn’t tell which hands held knives and which didn’t. All she knew was pain and that her clothes became more and more wet as blood poured out of her and onto the ground. The world spun in front of her eyes and bile rose in her throat as a kick landed in her stomach, making her spit a mix of bile and blood on the ground. 

“See bitch? This what you get. Told you I’d kill you, didn’t I?”

The leader, who had recovered slightly from his injury, spat in her face while the others laughed, and with a final kick to her head, she went limp in the ever growing pool of blood beneath her. The leader clutched his arm tightly and grimaced as they left and with a last glance over their shoulders the gang walked down the street. Their voices could be heard for a few more moments before the street fell silent again. Anya tried to call for help as she felt her life ebb away, but all she could muster was a few low mumbles. Her vision started to darken and with her last breath, her mouth whispered words of their own.

"Mythal, Halani em."

Her heavy head fell to the ground and all faded to black before her eyes, just as a green flash filled the alley. When it dissipated, the dying girl was no longer there.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven translation: Mythal, Halani em. - Mythal, help me


	3. Arriving

Cammael had seen better days; every joint in his body ached as he slowly limped along the narrow path towards the river. Despite his age and pain, he navigated quietly in the forest thanks to years of practice, the only sounds being the birds chirping in the trees and the soft thumps of his walking stick against the earth. He took a deep breath of the rich air around him and trudged further on beneath yellowing branches. The river was close, the smell of wet earth betraying its whereabouts and he took a moment to rest and wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was a short walk to the river from their camp, but even so, his pains hindered his movements enough to make it tough. It was a luxury of his, to walk down to the river in the mornings; he got some peace and quiet from the morning rush about the camp and he brought back enough fish to make this winter a plentiful one. The keeper had been impressed and decided to have the fish cured so they could stockpile it for the coming winter, and since no one in the clan were seriously ill he could sneak away to fish while the others hurt themselves. He could take care of anything that happened when he came back and if it was something serious they knew where to find him. 

It was then, when he saw the river between the trees up ahead, that the green light emanating from the riverbed almost blinded him. He groaned and took a few stumbling steps sideways as he rubbed his eyes. When his vision returned he saw something along the riverbank and hurried the last of the way. With spots in his vision he couldn't quite take in what met him when he reached it but his eyes followed the red tendrils flowing down the river to the body of a seriously injured woman. She was half submerged in the water and the current threatened to drag her away with it as he reached her. Pulling her body further up on the riverbank, he noticed multiple stab wounds among the folds of her strange clothing leading her to be bleeding out, fast. Knowing that time was of the essence, he blew his horn, calling for aid, and began applying some elfroot salve to the wounds he could see. They wouldn’t help much, but could stem the flow of blood and give him some more time, which was the biggest issue with this patient. He soon heard quick footsteps coming through the forest and when he looked up briefly, there were three guardians, ready to fight an unknown enemy. Any words that might have been prepared caught in their throat as they took in the scene in front of them, snapping back to reality when Cammael barked at them to stop staring and help him. 

“Why should we bother, hahren? She is most likely dead.”

“If we do not care about lives lost, who will? If it were your child laying here, would you deny them care that may save their life because they _might_ be dead?

“But she’s a _shem_.”

“Ethelan, how can we expect them to care about our cousins in the cities if we do not care about them in the woods? Now stop arguing with me and do as I say!”

The guardians quickly made a simple stretcher and carefully lifted the woman onto it, and left to take her to camp as fast as they could without unnecessary jostling, one of them running ahead with instructions to ready a tent and a cot for the new patient. With newfound vigor, Cammael hurried after the other elves back to camp. Despite his unusually fast pace, he still lagged behind and when he arrived at the camp, the tent was already up and the hunters had begun unloading the woman. Cammael called for his assistant and entered the tent while rolling up his sleeves.

“Mira! Heat water over the fire and bring it here.”

“Yes, hahren.” 

She quickly darted out of the tent and with the silence that followed, Cammael could hear the camp’s dwellers scurrying around outside, some no doubt helping Mira with her urgent tasks. He turned his attention to the patient and began undressing her by cutting into the womans surprisingly soft clothing. Being a healer, nudity was clinical, and a necessity, he did not linger any longer than to briefly assess her condition. Cammael was struggling with the woman’s tight trousers, which were tough and sturdy while still being malleable and soft, when Mira returned with a bucket of steaming water. With a slash of his dagger, he freed the woman from the blood-soaked  get-up and threw it aside before turning to Mira and gesturing towards the bucket.

“There’s more on the fire?”

“Yes, hahren.”

“Good. Now help me find any injuries while we wait for Valora.”

“But, hahren. I did not send for her.”

“Oh she knows. With all this commotion she is probably already on her way.”

With a nod from Mira, they searched the woman’s body for injuries, finding several that required immediate attention and healing. When they reached the woman’s head, they found an obviously broken nose and some bruises before they moved on to the scalp. To access it, they had to unbraid the woman’s hair, causing both elves to still momentarily in surprise. 

“She’s an elf!” Mira hissed. 

“So she is.” Cammael said. 

“She’s unusally tall and broad for an elf isn’t she?” 

“She is.”

Looking closer, Cammael noted more clues to her origins; the larger, slightly upturned eyes, the cheekbones and straight nose all bore the traces of elven heritage, but her frame spoke more of human stature, the height and curve of her body being so unlike any elves he had ever met. In that moment the tentflaps fluttered and a second later another elf entered the tent. 

“We’re taking in shems now?!”

“As a matter of fact, we’re not. This woman in particular is an elf, albeit of unusual build, but really Valora, every life deserves to be saved. Regardless of their race.”

Valora began to protest but Cammael held up a hand to stop her. 

“If we do not, how can we expect to change their attitude towards our people?”

When Valora proved to not have an answer, they both turned back to the patient in front of them, Cammael directing Valora to the worst of the injuries while Mira stitched up some of the minor ones. Being the Keeper’s Second, Valora’s magic were not the best, but she had proved herself to be a quite talented healer. The Keeper’s First, Nelras, was more theoretical in his use of magic, exploring concepts long thought lost to time, and, he was born into the clan while Valora was not, so of course he was First. 

They worked feverishly through the day with few stops to rest and by afternoon, Valora was shaking with the toll the magic had taken on her, and still the woman’s wounds were not all healed. The mage felt that her magic was not strong enough as some of the larger wounds had been closed up completely while other had been too much for her to handle. The broken nose was set and mostly healed to avoid breathing issues and the woman’s pulse was continuous but weak. With a heavy sigh, Valora sat down on a stool next to the patient’s cot and panted audibly. 

“Do you need to stop?” Cammael asked.

“My mana is depleted and I can barely stand, what do you _think_?!” Valora responded irritably before grimacing at the sound of her own voice and continued: “Ir Abelas Cammael, I’m exhausted.”

“It’s alright, da’len. Rest. Mira and I can take it from here. Thank you.”

With a thankful smile, Valora rose and exited the tent on heavy feet, stumbling towards her aravel. Cammael and Mira continued to work on the woman’s wounds, stitching some up, applying poultices and wrapping them in clean cloths. When evening came and there was no more to be done, Cammael sent Mira to get blankets and set up his bedroll in the tent before he went to the nearest fireplace and began making a light soup. The guardians who had helped him carry the woman earlier in the day, joined him while he put herbs and fish into the boiling water, asking several questions about her. 

“While your care for the patient’s well-being is commendable, I’m afraid we don’t know much about her at this point. She is stable but needs to be supervised in case something happens.” 

“What do you think happened to her?” Ethelan asked

"I don't know, but whatever it was, it was armed, angry and dangerous. Don't stray too far from camp from here on out." Cammael warned. "At least until we've spoken to her."

“Is it true that she’s an elf?” Another of the guardians asked. “She didn’t look like one. Way too… large. Like a shem.”

"Yes, she is an elf. She has obvious elven features if one looks closely enough." Cammael answered with slight annoyance. "The ears help as well." he added with a crooked smile.

The elves chuckled before stillness set over them and Ethelan spoke again.

“What could she have done to anger someone so much?”

“If they knew she was an elf, that would be enough.” Another guardian answered.

“What if she’s a runaway Tevinter slave?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! She probably…”

“Enough!” Cammael interrupted. “Let us not speculate. We can ask if, and when she wakes up. Until then I will not hear any of your wild theories.”

With that, he poured the soup into a bowl and left the fire to return to the tent. The stars were coming out and the smell from the fires and elven cooking teased his empty stomach, making it rumble with anticipation. His leather wrapped feet made little sound against the ground, the soft thud of his walking stick and the bleating from the halla surrounding him as he walked towards the tent in which he would spend the night. It would be a cold night, but thankfully, when he opened the flap with his stick, he saw that Mira had brought not only blankets but the winter furs as well.

He sat on the stool and when the bowl was empty, his stomach settled down with a pleasant weight to it. Cammael put some of the furs on top of the blanket that sheltered the woman from the chilly air and made a last check on her before he lay down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. 

He awoke to the sound of an unfamiliar voice in the darkness which he soon identified as the patient’s and rose to check on her. She was thrashing and her erratic movement had knocked a few of the furs of the cot. Cammael bent to retrieve them but then the woman started to speak again, low and mumbled at first and loud and clear later.  

“Run faster. Don’t drop me.”

The dream seemed to frighten her and Cammael placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe her, but the gentle touch did nothing. With a violent thrash she knocked Cammael’s hand away and with a scream, she half-rose out of bed, grabbed Cammael with a surprising amount of strength, and opened her eyes. The unexpectedly vibrant green of the woman’s eyes met Cammael’s brown and for a second there was an eerie silence in the tent. The moment passed and the woman’s eyes grew riddled with sleep, but with a scared urgency in her voice she asked:

“Why are the stars different?!”

She stared hollowly at Cammael for a moment, before her eyes rolled back into her head, returning to her previously comatose state. Cammael carefully laid the woman back down and wrapped her back up in the furs that had shifted off of her when she stirred. Her breaths drew longer and calmer and with a puzzled expression, Cammael lay on his bedroll. _How can stars be different?_ Concerned and curious, he lay awake for a while before sleep reclaimed him. 

  
  
  



	4. Awakening

When Anya opened her eyes, she was met with a rough brown canvas spanning above her in the dim light. Her head was spinning and she immediately shut her eyes again, only to carefully and slowly opening only one to see the canvas moving in the wind. It shifted in and out of focus as she opened her other eye and when she raised her hands, she felt them restricted by a blanket and a number of furs. Carefully shifting them, she managed to free her arms and with the movement, felt a sharp pain in her back and torso. A small groan escaped her and she steeled herself for another stab of pain as she moved her hands closer to her face, placing one arm across her forehead and felt the cool, reassuring weight of it slightly dampen the dizziness.

As she lay there for a while, placing her cool fingers over her now closed eyes to further suppress the dizziness, she took a deep breath. Her eyelids squished together and she gasped at the blinding pain shooting through her left side. Whimpering, she bowed her head as tears stung in her eyes while the pain slowly receded, until she could open her eyes again. Very carefully, she moved her head to gaze around the room she was in, noticing that it was some sort of tent, with sloping walls and flaps for the entrance. Just beside her bed stood a small stool; worn and aged but with beautifully intricate carvings on the legs which her eyes instinctively followed. Suddenly the world swayed and dropped out of focus, making her close her eyes to lessen the nausea that followed the dizziness. Trying to sit up, the nausea hit her hard, and she nearly threw up before managing to bite it down. She, again, tried to sit up, this time slower and more carefully than before, and managed to avoid being nauseated. The movement brought with it a loud rustling sound in the morning stillness, leading Anya to believe that the mattress had to be filled with straw. Not much, since the bed, or cot more like, was very hard.

Still dizzy, she glanced around the tent, breathing in the comforting smell of earth and herbs, reminding her of the summer camps she went to when she was younger. While the scent was comforting in its familiarity, there was something underneath which was explicitly new and strange, with an almost intoxicating energy to it. As all this went through her head, her eyes absentmindedly glanced over the ground next to her bed, only to suddenly stop and do a double take. Gone were the memories of summers past, and instead, nervously, debated her next course of action. On the ground, with their face turned away from her, lay an indistinguishable figure, wrapped in blankets and furs that moved with the figure’s steady breaths. Should she make the figure aware that she was awake, or should she not, and let them sleep while she figured out where she was? Deciding on the latter, she tried to silently move to a standing position by turning ever so slowly, so as to avoid the blinding pain in her side again, and placing her bare feet on the ground. They recoiled slightly from the cold of the compacted dirt and her toes curled while her body-heat warmed the soil beneath her feet.

When Anya had moved, the furs covering her had fallen off her torso, and she only now, when the cold air touched her skin, realized that she was completely naked. Her right thigh and both arms were covered up by bandages, and her torso was bruised and littered with minor scrapes. Upon closer inspection, she noticed a number of fresh scars across her stomach before she drew the furs closer and shivered at the frigid morning air. The compulsive tension brought forth by the shivers, agitated her left side and she groaned loudly at the stabbing pain.

At the sound of her voice, the figure on the ground turned over and gazed at her with sleepy eyes. Anya nervously looked back at the figure and tried desperately to think of something to say, but the abnormality of the situation rendered her speechless. The figure’s face was wrinkled and weathered and had intricate tattoos covering the forehead and cheeks, disappearing into a receding hairline. The bed-tousled hair had come out of their simple braids, aimed at keeping the shoulder length hair out of the face of its owner. The two studied each other for a moment, not breaking eye contact until the figure on the ground seemed to realize something and gasped loudly while sitting up among his furs.

“You’re awake!”

Anya nodded, which made the world spin around her again, causing her to sway unsteadily. The man on the floor, because the voice was obviously male, rose as hurriedly as an old man could, and hobbled over to her on slightly unsteady legs due to the absence of his walking stick, which lay forgotten on the floor beside his bundle of furs.

“Are you dizzy? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were, you lost a lot of blood. You’re lucky to be alive.”

The man moved to touch Anya, who shied away from his outreached hands, glaring at him suspiciously.

“I mean on harm, da’len. You have a broken rib and I’m worried you might overexert yourself, so please, lie down again.”

With all the effort Anya had put into getting to this position, she was hesitant to lie back down, but after glowering at the man, she reluctantly began to move. He smiled at her and helped lower her onto her back after which he laid the furs back in place.

“There we go.” he said. “I’m sure you have many questions, but those will have to wait. I’m going to make some tea to help with the nausea. I’ll be right back.”

The man went through the tent flaps into the early morning light and left Anya alone with her thoughts. With her head still spinning, she thought of the man’s words “You’re lucky to be alive.” and realized that she should definitely be dead, considering that the last time she had been conscious, she had been in the middle of Boston, bleeding to death in an alley. Her heart nearly stopped. _Where was she?_ She couldn’t hear the sounds of a city through the thin canvas walls and the air had a crispness to it that she didn’t recognize. Her mind raced along paths of darkness and she grew ever more panicked as the thought of how to get back home and _Why wasn’t she in a hospital?_ Tears began to well in her eyes and ultimately fell down her temples and into her hair, beginning to sob just as the man returned to the tent, making her try to hide her tears with her hands.

“It’s okay to cry, da’len. Whatever happened to you left marks on the inside as well as the outside.”

Anya wiped the tears away and looked suspiciously at the steaming mug the man was holding. The man saw and raised the mug as he offered words of comfort.

“Elfroot and spindleweed.”

A small smile appeared on his lips, like he was expecting her to understand what that meant. She didn’t understand any of it though, and looked, puzzled, from the mug, to the man and back again. With her head swimming, she decided that whatever happened, happened and nodded towards the man who set the mug aside to let it cool before proceeding to gently examine Anya. He lifted the furs covering her right leg, and was careful so as to not expose her while doing so, and started to remove the bandages with surprisingly nimble fingers. Anya, curious despite her nausea, craned her neck to look at what had hidden itself beneath the bandages, and was met with a deep laceration that, even though it no longer bled, was swollen and surrounded by angry, red skin spotted with blue and purple. The wound itself was as long as her hand, jagged around the edges and brown with crusted blood, especially around the stitches holding the wound together. It repulsed her, and she cursed her curiosity as she felt bile rise in her throat and she threw herself to the side where she vomited on the dirt floor. Luckily, her stomach was empty so it wasn’t much that came out and she had managed to miss the man’s furs as well, which were still occupying the area next to the bed.

“Ir abelas, da’len, I should have warned you.”

He put new bandages on the wound and reached for a bucket she hadn’t seen earlier, dipped a cloth into the liquid within and put it against her mouth to gently clean her face of the traces of vomit. When he considered himself finished, he put the now dirty cloth in a basket by the foot of the cot where it joined a myriad of different cloths, all marked by blood in some way or another. Anya, who had followed the cloth’s path gulped at the sight and meant to say something before being distracted by a mug, entering her field of vision. The aroma was nice and herby with a touch of mint, and the hand holding it belonged to the same man who had tended to her wounds and wiped her mouth when she threw up. Even if she didn’t completely trust the man, he had an impeccable track record so far and as such only hesitated a little before drinking the tea he offered. The man supported her head and shoulders as she drank and when she finished, eased her back down. As her head hit the mattress, she could already feel the effects of the herbs as the nausea was retreating quickly and her vision cleared and stabilized itself. She looked around her andsaw that the man had seated himself on the stool next to her with a curious look on his face. As they locked eyes, he leaned forward and said:

“Now, let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry it's been so long. This chapter had me stuck several times and since it was such (relatively) minor things happening, it wasn't as much fun to write.  
> I'm hoping the next chapter is less of a challenge and just flows like the first three. 
> 
> I'm also so happy that people are reading this and enjoying it. All the love to you <3


	5. Origins

“What is your name, da’len?”

The kindness in the man’s eyes drove Anya to answer his question without even a thought of lying, but when she did, her throat closed up and she had to clear it to be able to make any sound. When she finally managed to make words come out, they were hoarse and weak.

“A-Anya.”  
“Anya? I’m Cammael.” He smiled. “Do you know what happened to you?”  
“I was robbed by this gang, they weren’t satisfied and tried to um… tried to-” Her voice was thick and she had to swallow several times to get rid of the lump in her throat.  
“They tried to rape me.” She finally whispered. “I fought back but they were too many.”  
“I am terribly sorry da’len.” Cammael replied and asked softly: “Do you know where you are?”

She hesitated for a short while, before admitting that she did not, only that she was not where she was before.

“Understandable. At the moment you are with the Dalish clan Lavellan outside of Hasmal in the Free Marches. I found you in a river a short walk from here two days ago and I, along with my assistant and the clan’s First, have been caring for you since.”  
“I’m sorry? Where?” With confusion clearly written on her face, she looked to Cammael for clarification. “The Free Marches? I’ve never heard of it. Is it somewhere in Canada?”  
“You’ve… never heard of the Free Marches?” Cammael asked with disbelief in his voice and widened eyes.

Anya shook her head and asked:

“Am I supposed to?”  
“Well, it is one of the biggest nations in Thedas.”  
“Thedas?”

Cammael looked at her incredulously and was silent for a few moments while Anya grew ever more uncomfortable. _Did I say something wrong?_

“Where-” he began before clearing his throat and continuing. “Where are you from?”  
“I grew up in NYC but moved to Boston a few years ago to go to college.”

Silence. Cammael stared at her and she squirmed underneath his shocked gaze. Finally, Cammael broke the silence with a question.

“Enwhysea? Where’s that?”  
“No, N.Y.C. New York City.” After a few moments of further silence, Anya continued. “You’ve never heard of it?”  
“I can’t say I have.”

Anya couldn’t believe what she just heard and stared at Cammael for what felt like an eternity before he spoke up again.

“Would you be able to point it out on a map?”  
“Yeah, sure.”  
“Then I will be right back.”

Cammael hobbled out of the tent and to his aravel as fast as he could, only to return shortly with a big roll of parchment in his hand. He put some pillows under Anya’s head so she wouldn’t have to strain herself to see and, sitting on the stool again, he carefully unrolled the map and showed it to her.

Anya looked at the map, ready to show him, but faltered as she didn't recognize any place on it with her hand hovering in the air, her eyes darted across the carefully drawn mountain ridges and rivers. Panic started to form in her chest and her breathing quickened, bringing with it the pain in her side, albeit not as intensely as before.

“I-, I can’t…”

Cammael started to grumble and began rolling the map back up.

“This ‘New York City’, is it a small place? This map is not that detailed and may have some smaller areas uncharted.”

Anya shook her head vigorously before replying.

“No! No, it’s one of the largest cities on earth.”  
“I’m sure it’s large by comparison, but I have not seen any island called Earth on any map I’ve encountered.”  
“Earth is not an island! And-”  
“No?” Cammael interrupted. “Then it must be very remote if it is not on the maps.”

Anger reared its ugly head inside her, making her snap at the kind but slightly condescending man beside her.

“Don’t try and paint me like the village idiot! I come from Earth. The planet earth! With seven and a half billion people living on it. New York City alone have 9 million, Boston 700,000. It’s neither small or remote! If anyone is remote, it’s you guys!”

Cammael’s mouth had hanged opened since the mention of Earth’s population and stayed open for a good while after Anya’s rant had ended.

“Seven _billion_?!” he finally burst out.  
“And a half.” Anya added smugly.

Cammael was shaking his head in disbelief, his face unable to hide his confusion and shock.

“This is not something that would just be missed by cartographers.” He mumbled to himself. “It cannot be a part of Thedas. This Earth must be somewhere else, maybe beyond the Volca sea or the Amaranthine ocean.”

He paused briefly before turning sharply towards Anya, looking deep into her dark green eyes.

“How did you _get_ here?”

Anya stammered at the intensity in his voice, finally managing to answer.

“I don’t know! I was attacked on the streets in Boston, then I think I remember a green flash, but then I woke up here. Like magic.”  
“Magic? Are you a mage then?”  
“Haha what? No! It’s just an expression, magic isn’t really real-”  
“You don’t know about magic?” Cammael stared at her, again in disbelief. _How could this girl have missed the very real presence of magic?_  
“Of course I don’t. Magic is just a figment of the imagination. Sure, ‘magic’ can happen with like, love or music, but it’s not in a literal sense. It’s just like, something incredible or indescribable given the name so that people can still believe that there are still something fantastic in the world.” Anya paused. “Aaand you’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”  
“I’m sorry da’len, but I cannot reconcile the fact of such a large civilization with no magic. Not unless they were all dwarves, which isn’t impossible with so much of their kingdom lost. Where there dwarves?”  
“What, like in fairy tales? No! Just regular humans, like us.”  
“We’re not humans da’len.”  
“We what now?”  
“We are not humans. We are elves.”

Anya laughed nervously.

“Elves? Like the mythological beings in fantasy books?”  
“I don’t know of these fantasy books, but yes, elves. Did you think yourself human, despite the fact that your ears clearly mark you as elven?  
“I-”

The two looked at each other in stunned silence before Cammael took a deep breath and said:

“So, let me get this straight. You come from a place called Earth, you were surrounded by humans and thought yourself one, and you don’t know anything about magic, dwarves or elves?”  
“Of course I don’t! I keep telling you magic isn’t really real. It’s all just coincidences and stuff.”  
“Actually, da’len, it is very real. Without it you would not have made it.”  
“Wait, you’re serious? You really think magic is real?”  
“I know it is.”  
“Huh yeah… I’ll believe that when I see it.”

There was a lull in the conversation while Cammael calmed his nerves. He was not equipped to deal with ignorant children so stuck in their ways that they could not be reasoned with.

“You being here cannot be explained, and you say you saw a green flash before you got here?”

Anya nodded, followed by a _Mhm_.

“I also saw a green flash shortly before I found you and I have a theory, but I will need to confer with our Keeper about it. Please stay here while I get her.”

Before he left, Cammael retrieved a tunic from a chest close by, holding it out to her.

“Do you wish me to help you put it on or would you rather do it yourself?”

She hesitated. While she was uncomfortable with the thought of him seeing her naked, she realized that she might not be able to actually put it on by herself. Her side still hurt whenever she moved and with a hint of trepidation, she accepted the help. Cammael helped her sit up on the cot, never once glancing down on her naked body. Even with him respecting her privacy, she blushed and covered her chest with her arms while Cammael unraveled the beige and long-sleeved tunic, carefully put it over her head and  easing her arms into the sleeves. The movements made her wince and hiss with pain, but Cammael’s gentle guidance ensured that she didn’t cry out. When they finished, he handed her a piece of bread from a basket on the table.

“Now, I’ll go wake the Keeper. In the meantime you may eat this. Be careful, your stomach might not be able to handle more at the moment.”  
“Okay.” She said and started to nibble on the dark bun.

With a nod towards her, Cammael left the tent in search of the Keeper. The sun hadn’t yet risen and even though Keeper Deshanna was an early riser, the only ones awake were the guards placed around the camp, hidden from sight but with eyes that saw every move. Cammael walked as swiftly as he could to the Keeper’s aravel and knocked on the door.

“Keeper Deshanna? I require your assistance.”

He heard shuffling from inside and waited patiently outside the aravel while the Keeper presumably dressed. After a few minutes, a woman with graying hair, cropped just above her shoulders exited the aravel. The green swirls on her face caught what little light there was, as the sun hadn’t risen yet, when she turned to Cammael with a silent question in her eyes.

“Follow me.” He said simply and began the walk back to the tent.

Side by side, they walked in silence until they reached the tent and pushed the flaps aside where they found the patient sitting on the cot with her red hair flowing down her back in big, gentle curls nibbling on a piece of bread. When she heard them enter, her eyes snapped to them and Deshanna was met with the most vibrant green eyes she had ever seen. Surprised, Deshanna stood still for a moment before taking in the state of the woman; the freckles on the woman’s skin was in stark contrast against her pale skin and the bandages around her thigh poked out underneath the hem of her tunic.

“On dhea, da’len.” She greeted.  
“Morning.” Anya responded.  
“Keeper, this is Anya. Anya; Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan.”

Cammael sat next to Anya on the cot and offered the stool to Deshanna while he informed her of what they had talked about earlier.

“She says she saw a green flash before she collapsed, I’m thinking this could be related to the fade or magic-” Cammael started.  
“But magic isn’t real!” Anya interrupted.  
“She is firm in her belief that magic isn’t real. Nothing I say can convince her otherwise.”  
“I understand. She could have been isolated from it in some way, but it is very odd that she would completely disregard its existence.” Deshanna turned to Anya and stretched out her hand. “Now, I will show you something, and if you’ve seen anything like it before, do tell me.”

Inside the Keeper’s outstretched hand a small blue-green flame came to life.

“Holy shitsticks! What the fuck?!” Anya recoiled, only to stop moving when the pain in her side flared up again. “This isn’t happening! I’m dreaming, or I’m dead. Definitely dead.”

Deshanna put out the small flame and Cammael managed to calm Anya before she injured herself further, explaining that magic is a part of life and should not be feared in itself. After gentle encouragement, Anya’s curiosity won over her shock and she asked to see the flame again.

“Are you sure it won’t burn me?” She said as she reached out to touch the flame in Deshanna’s hand.  
“I am certain.” Deshanna replied.

Anya put her fingers into the flame, expecting a burning sensation despite Keeper Deshanna’s assurance, only to find it lukewarm. She could feel something tingling up her arm but saw nothing that could explain the sensation, so she said nothing and silently withdrew her hand from the flame.

“So, magic is a thing then?”  
“Yes, magic is real.”  
“But why-.” Anya started.  
“If you don’t mind, da’len, I’d suggest we have this discussion another time and return to the matter of how you got here.” Cammael interrupted.  
“Oh, of course. Sorry.”  
“There’s no need to apologize. You are curious, it is healthy.”

A smile flashed across Anya’s face before the Keeper spoke up.

“Da’len, You saw something green, before you succumbed to your wounds, correct?”  
“Yes. It was like a flash of light… I don’t really know how to describe it.”  
“It sounds to me as it is something related to the Fade, as you explained earlier Cammael, but I think Nelras is better equipped for these circumstances, he is of a more theoretical mind than I.”  
“I’ll go get him.”  
“No, Cammael. I’ll go. Save your energy, I’m sure our guest needs you to do more than run errands.”  
“Ma nuvenin.”

 

The keeper shortly returned with a young man in tow, he couldn’t be more than 25 and had a boyish look to him as he entered. He had been told of the situation on the way over and jumped straight into the discussion.

“I’ve never heard of anyone like you, coming from somewhere unknown, with no memory of how you got here. It’s fascinating! And you say you remember a green light? Extraordinary.”

Cammael had to interrupt the man to properly introduce them and then continued with:

“I also noticed, during the first night, that she woke up, talking about ‘different stars’. I don’t know if that is very helpful, but I thought you should know.”  
“Very good.” Nelras nodded and turned to Anya again. “You see, this green light sounds awfully like it comes from the Fade, a realm where spirits and demons live and where we all go when we dream, in an incorporeal state of course. It is also the place from which magic seems to originate, some scholars even say that it is possible for the Fade to connect to other realms in turn. This theory came about as several people remember dreaming about objects or happenings that were unfamiliar or alien to them, but the theory has never been confirmed. But imagine; if the Fade connects to our realm, is it not possible that it can be connected to others? Like a hub or crossroads-”  
“Nelras, breathe.” Deshanna interrupted.  
“Ir abelas, Keeper.” Nelras turned towards Anya again. “I believe you were pulled through from one of these realms, but by whom? Or what? And _Why_? Those are the real questions here.”  
“If I understood that correctly, you’re saying that I am in some sort of alternate universe or a different dimension?”  
“Essentially, yes.”  
“Well, how do I get back?”  
“I’m afraid I don’t know.”  
“Oh.” Anya’s face fell, clearly disappointed. “So, I’m stuck here?”  
“For a while. We could try and contact these scholars, but I don’t know where to look for them. The next time we head to Hasmal I’ll ask around, or we could try to make contact with another clan and ask their Keeper…”  
“Nelras, you know that we have no way to contact any other clans until the Arlathvhen, which is two years from now.” Deshanna said. “But if we come across a clan we’ll be sure to ask to speak to their Keeper.”  
“Right, let’s begin in Hasmal at least. If that doesn’t yield anything I’m afraid we’ll have to wait until we can talk to the other Keepers.” Nelras looked apologetically to Anya.  
“Wait. Hold up. Two _years_?!”  
“Yes. I’m sorry, Anya.”  
“I don’t really have choice do I?” She sulked. “Fricking great.”

 

Concerned, Cammael turned to Deshanna.

“What do we tell the clan? If rumors of this reaches the templars, they will come after us.”  
“We do not tell them the entire truth.” Deshanna answered. “I will not risk the lives of our clan for a stranger.”

Anya, somewhat disheartened by the Keeper’s words, understood the reasoning behind them. Who would risk not only their own life, but the lives of their family as well, for a stranger?

“Some of the guardians suspected she was a runaway Tevinter slave, maybe we can work with that?” Cammael suggested. “We are close enough to the border for it to be plausible.”

Deshanna thought about it for a while before explaining her plan. Anya were to be a former Tevinter slave, owned from birth by a recently deceased recluse, which would explain her lack of knowledge of the world. To fill in the blanks, Nelras and Cammael would teach her everything she needed to know about the world she was in, so that she wouldn’t attract unwanted attention.

“There is only one problem.” Cammael said. “Your name.”

Curiously, Anya looked at him, remembering how she had always hated her name, felt it chafe and itch against her skin and with growing excitement, she realized they were about to change it and let her finally escape the discomfort. Trying not to seem too excited, she asked nervously:

“What about it?”  
“It is not a name common among slaves in Tevinter. It may imply that the story we tell is not entirely true and can eventually lead to rumors, which is what we were trying to avoid by spinning a story.”  
“Alright, what do we call me then?”

They all went through several names before Cammael, who had been silent for a while, spoke up.

“My grandmother was named after an old legend hailing from arlathan, maybe it would suit you?” With a curious look from Anya, he continued. “Aydalin.”

Anya felt the name slide across her skin, slide into place and caress her soul in a gentle embrace. Her face lit up and she smiled broadly at Cammael, not needing to speak her appreciation. With a sigh of relief, Deshanna said:

“I believe we have our name.” And excused herself from the tent.

Nelras shortly followed, although his eyes betrayed his curiosity and childlike fascination.

“So, _Aydalin_. Would you like some breakfast?”

Realizing her stomach had already digested the small bread from earlier and screamed for more, she nodded happily and grasped the arm Cammael offered her.

“Right this way, da’len.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoooo! Inspiration! YES. 
> 
> Thank you all who are reading this, you are lovely <3
> 
> Any comments, musings or suggestions? tellmetellmetellme  
> And as usual, any grammar errors and you tell me, okay? Promise?
> 
> OH Elvhen (Elvish? Elven?) Translations:  
> On dhea - Good Morning  
> For those new to Dragon age:  
> Arlathan - economic and cultural centre of Elvhenan  
> Elvhenan - (lit. Place of our people) What Thedas was called before the elves and Arlathan fell to give way to the humans.
> 
> Edit: New formatting for this very talkative chapter. Hate it? Love it? Weird? Tell me!


	6. Emerging

The clan accepted Aydalin’s need for rest and privacy when their curiosity had been sated. Using their fabricated story, Cammael had informed the clan of the woman’s situation and allowed certain key members to meet her briefly. This need for privacy gave Cammael and Nelras time to educate Aydalin about the world she was to live in for the next two years. At first, this education dealt with the basics; how life worked for the Dalish, their relations with the rest of the world and their religion, as the pantheon was a big part of Dalish life. It then went on to matters concerning the Tevinter Imperium, again only dealing with basics like how a day would be in the life of a slave and their political system, as well as how an elf would be treated by humans; things she would know if her story were true. All this to ensure that their story never wavered. When time allowed, Nelras taught her about magic and its uses, the different ways the world reacted towards it and the advantages as well as the disadvantages of every system. The schooling was intense but necessary and Aydalin felt like she was back in college, trying to cram as much information in her head as she possibly could in a very short amount of time. After one particularly information-heavy session, she was mentally exhausted but her body was not, leading to her tossing and turning for a long while before finally finding sleep. 

_The orange glow from the flames shone through gaps in the dark world surrounding her and thick smoke attacked her nose. She screamed and cried for help but none came and when the smell of burning flesh made their way to her nostrils, she instantly_ woke up.

Her breathing was fast and labored when she awoke as she still couldn’t move much without her broken rib poking her painfully in the side and her thin sleeping tunic clung to her skin, soaked with sweat. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest, screaming for her to run. But there was no danger to run from. It was just a dream. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she tried to ignore the pain in her side but could not. Settling for slightly-less-deep breaths, it was a long while before she was calm enough to lay back down and go back to sleep. 

The next day, at the break of dawn, Cammael decided that she would be able to blend in with the rest of the clan and led her out of the tent she had been holed up in for the better part of a week. They sat down by the fire and while Cammael made them some food, Aydalin pulled her forest green wrap, lined with fennec fur, closer and observed the camp. Several trailer-like vessels she had learned were called aravels were placed around the camp, some had their own small fires but most of them were gathered in a wide circle around the big communal fire by which she and Cammael sat. The trees were flaming with the colors of autumn and there was a chill in the air, no bite yet, but it was not far in the future. Her leaving Earth at the beginning of spring two weeks ago and arriving in Thedas at the end of autumn made her sad, she always liked spring and now she had essentially gone back in time only to relive winter. _What a drag_. Further away, by the edge of the forest, a larger group of people lingered, preparing for something. Aydalin looked at them curiously and when Cammael noticed, he explained:

“The best game is most active during dawn and dusk, as such the hunters leave early in the morning to ensure success. The gatherers leave later so that they don’t scare the game away.”

Anya nodded in understanding and watched as the hunters left, leaving the camp very quietly. At this point their breakfast was ready and Aydalin fumbled with her wrap and the belt she had been given to fasten it over one shoulder, like Cammael had showed her, before they started to eat. As they sat there, eating, more and more people woke up and gathered around the fires for breakfast. Aydalin and Cammael soon had to move out of the way to make room for the increasing number of hungry elves. Soon, the flow of bodies moved on and scattered to their different tasks. The guardians and young hunters practiced their skills in a clearing not far away, right next to the young children who were taught how to use a bow. Both groups’ skills were impressive and Aydalin watched them longingly, aching to claim control of her body in a sparring ring. Children and elders gathered around the fire, the latter telling stories of elven history and Aydalin found herself entranced by the elves’ melodic voices and listened intently while she looked to the crafters a bit away from the central fire. They were creating weapons as well as needles or other things needed in daily life and Aydalin could not help but marvel at their skill, manipulating metal and wood into beautiful and useful things.

As the day wore on, Aydalin talked to many curious elves, most of them children and she could tell that the adults nearby listened carefully to what she had to say, they were just discreet where the children were direct. When the day neared lunchtime, Aydalin had visited the crafters and expressed her admiration of their work, seeing them appreciate her interest but not being surprised by it. They knew they were good. One of the crafters had even offered to help her craft some shoes when he had finished his duties for the day, making Aydalin squee with glee. As everyone still in camp grew hungrier, the smell of cooking spread across the area, making everyone gather around the communal fire where a large pot of stew awaited them. After their joint lunch, Aydalin followed the guardians and apprentice hunters to their training area and observed them, taking note of how they handled themselves. The bow seemed to be the most important weapon in their arsenal, as it was the most effective method of catching game as well as protecting against intruders. One of the instructors saw her observing them and walked over to where she stood, flashing a cocky grin at her.

“Impressed?”

Aydalin laughed at his bold boasting and winced at the flare of pain from her side, but had to admit that she was. 

“I’ve never seen anyone so skilled with a bow before.”

“I’m not surprised. The Dalish are the best archers in Thedas, ours especially so.” The man smiled proudly and wiped a few dark hairs from his tattooed face before he continued. “The very best, however, are spared for hunting or scouting. We can’t afford to go without food or protection just because someone wanted to learn how to shoot from the best.”

“I see.”

There was a lull in the conversation and they both gazed over the men and women honing their skills.

“I’m sorry, I’m being rude. My name is Ilris, I’m out hunting usually, but today I had to show my younger brother how to hold a bow properly.”

Ilris gestured to a young boy who couldn’t have been more than eleven, practicing nearby. The boy had trouble drawing the string back far enough and looked to his older sibling pleadingly.

“Don’t worry about it Hawen!” Ilris shouted back.”Give it time!”

The boy glared at him but said nothing as he again raised the bow and attempted to draw the string far enough back. In the meantime, Ilris turned back to Aydalin who only now realized that she had not responded in kind.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I’m Aydalin.”

Ilris turned towards her and laid his head to the side, looking as if he were sizing her up.

“Tell me, Aydalin. Do you have any particular skill set?”

Aydalin hesitated, she could make herself useful in the clan by doing at least one of the things she loved, but how could it be incorporated into her story? An elven slave would not be given the proper training from their master and would have had to acquire them in a different way. Finally deciding, she answered:

“Another slave taught me how to defend myself when I was young, and I kept practicing with him until he disappeared a few years ago.” When Ilris looked to her expectantly, she continued to define her training. “Unarmed close combat, mostly to defend and disarm. And I’m a musician.” She added, just in case.

“A musician? I’d love to hear it some day.” He smiled broadly at her, crinkling his eyes in a very appealing way. Forcing her mind to think of other things, she nodded to him appreciatively.

“Alright.”

She saw Nelras a small distance away, seemingly engrossed in a tome of some sort and moved to walk towards him, but Ilris interrupted her before she had even begun to say goodbye.

“If you want to spar sometime, just let me know, alright? I can show you a thing or two, if you’re good enough.”  

“Sure! As soon as I’m healed completely and Cammael says it’s okay I’ll be kicking your butt, _hunter_.” She teasingly replied. 

“We’ll see about that, _prey_.”Ilris laughed and winked at her.

She felt a blush crawling up her cheeks and quickly turned away from him. _Oh my god, am I flirting with him?!_ Before she could embarrass herself further she gestured to Nelras.

“Um… I have to… um… go.” She stammered. 

“It was nice to meet you, Aydalin. Remember to let me know when you’re feeling better!”

“I will!”

 

Moving towards Nelras, she felt the redness in her cheeks recede and she, more confidently, approached the First of clan Lavellan. 

“Hello Nelras!”

“Hello.” He mumbled and lifted his eyes from the book he was holding. “I see you’ve met Ilris.” 

His tone was curt, annoyed, and confused, Aydalin hesitated briefly before she pretended not to have noticed.

“He offered to spar with me when my rib is healed.”

“Of course he did.” 

Sensing that Nelras really didn’t want to talk about Ilris or what had transpired between him and Aydalin, she changed the subject after a moment of silence.

“So, I was thinking. Do you have an empty book or some paper?” 

“I think so, why?”

“I want to write down every song I know so that I don’t forget them.”

“You’re a bard?”

“If bard is what I think it is, it’s as close as you can get. I’m a musician, yes, and I need music or I’ll go mad.”

Hearing the plea in her voice, he rummaged through his tomes and found a small notebook he had saved, and gave it to her. 

“You can get me a new one later.” He smiled.

“Yeah, sure.” She smiled back. 

Just then, a shadow fell over the two of them and when they looked up, they saw Valora, boring her eyes into Nelras’. 

“Have you no shame, First?” she hissed. “No respect for our traditions? She’s a _shem_ Nelras, and you shouldn’t mingle with them.”

Despite not knowing the exact meaning of Valora’s words, Aydalin gathered that they were offensive from the way Nelras reacted; he had stood up and clenched his fists at his sides, shaking from repressed anger. 

“With that attitude _Second_ we’ll never rebuild Elvhenan.” He finally said venomously. “If we do not welcome and teach them, how will they find their way back to the Creators? How will we become the great empire we once were if our people are still spat on in the human cities? Yes, we must preserve what we have but we must also restore what was lost, and that includes the unity of our people!” 

Valora had recoiled from the fury in Nelras’ voice and tried to walk away with her pride intact, but failed miserably. Aydalin giggled at the sight and was rewarded with a poisonous glare from Valora. 

“Watch yourself shem. So far, all you are is another mouth to feed, and I will not coddle you like certain other members of our clan.” She said with a glance towards Nelras.

With a disdainful snort, Valora finally left, leaving Aydalin and Nelras alone once again. Nelras, had deflated slightly and sat back down, making Aydalin ask about what was said.

“Nelras, what is a shem?”

He looked at her incredulously and when the words finally reached him, he turned his face away to hide the redness of his cheeks. 

“Ir abelas, I forgot that there are many things you don’t know yet.” He turned back to face her and continued in a low voice. “It’s short for shemlen, which means quickling. It’s a derogatory term for human and for someone to apply it to one of the people is even more offensive.” 

“Oh, so she basically told me that I don’t belong?”

“Yes, as well as including you with the people who led to the destruction of Elvhenan.”

“What’s Elvhenan?”

Nelras startled but began telling her about the ancient elves and their empire, as well as the evanuris, the gods, who lived among them and ruled over them. He explained how the humans had made the elves lose their immortality and how the empire was ruined by the fall of Arlathan, the biggest and most prosperous city in Elvhenan. All this led to a more thorough description of how elves in the cities were treated, even if they weren’t slaves; how they lived in alienages, ghettos, surrounded by big walls and how the humans locked them in during times of unrest. He also described how an elf in the city could not expect justice for any wrongs done against him as they were considered cattle, expendable, servants and second-class citizens. 

“How have they not fought back?” Aydalin asked with tears in her eyes.

“They have, many times.” Nelras answered. “One of the first times, we were rewarded with a land of our own, the Dales, and lived there for 300 years before the humans invaded us. Since then, the city elves have rebelled several times, only to be defeated and made to live by even harsher restrictions of their freedoms.”

“We had something like that where I’m from too. Only, it was an issue with skin color, not a separate race. They finally managed to convince the public that their rights were as important as anyone else’s and it’s now against the law to discriminate against them. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, but it hasn’t even been a century since that happened so maybe it just needs more time. Who knows?”

“Your world changed?”

“Yeah, you can say that. But our society is more technologically advanced than yours and with innovation comes enlightenment and with enlightenment comes concession, so it might take a long time before that happens here. But that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to make a change. Be the change you wish to see in the world.” 

“That is a nice sentiment.” Nelras smiled but returned to a pensive expression shortly. “What do you mean when you say technologically advanced?”

“Well, we invented things that does work for us or make life easier. Like harnessing electricity, or toilets. Oh how I miss toilets. But, the point is that these inventions were driven by necessity and since we didn’t have magic to rely on, we had to use whatever was available to improve our living standards. Maybe, as your world progresses, concession will come with it.”

“It is a beautiful future you see for us.” A sad smile touched his lips before he realized that they were in the open, talking about different worlds, and quickly searched the camp to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. Determining that none had, he  continued. “Maybe these kinds of conversations are better held behind closed doors.”

They both rose and looked understandably at each other and started to move in different directions. Before they separated completely Nelras asked Aydalin to tell him more of her world and its many inventions, to which Aydalin agreed. With that they went separate ways, Nelras to his aravel with his books under his arm and Aydalin towards the crafters again, clutching a small notebook to her chest. Reaching the crafters, the smell of leather hit her and Soutuelan, the elf who had promised to help Aydalin make some shoes, approached her and together they started the process of making a pair of boots. In the end, Aydalin ended up with a pair of ugly, uncomfortable boots with lacing up her calf and despite these negative qualities, she had never been so proud of something she had made. Her success made her bold and as they laid the finishing touches to the boots, she asked him if he would be willing to make a new instrument, to which he answered that as long as she collected the material needed, he would do his best. The feeling of true happiness followed her to supper and later to the bedroll in the aravel she shared with Cammael’s assistant Mira and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads, you are the loveliest <3
> 
> I'm still looking for a beta-reader. Let me know if you're interested! So far, my brother has helped, but he hasn't played Inquisition yet and I don't want to spoil it for him :/ 
> 
> Anyways as always; plotholes, comments, suggestions, crazy ideas, grammar errors - DO let me know. Your wonderful comments are my bread and butter <3
> 
> Shoutout to [BriarRose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose) who's writing helped me get my inspiration back. Check out her lovely Solavellan fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6813853/chapters/15557818).


	7. Guard Dog

During the next few days, Aydalin found herself simply observing the camp and its dwellers, trying to make herself useful as much as possible. Valora’s words about her not being anything but another mouth to feed had stuck to her brain and led her to have a sense of unease wherever she went. Her rib was still bothering her and Cammael had said that she should rest and let it heal properly before partaking in any strenuous activities. Due to her lack of duties, she often found herself simply observing Cammael and Mira and at times helping them find healing herbs and preparing water or bandages. It was a small comfort, but it led to her being too busy at times to notice the poisonous glares Valora shot her way. When she didn’t look busy enough and was unable to avoid Valora’s gaze, Valora assigned her with menial and often degrading tasks. This coupled with being on the recieving end of a “shem” here and a “flat-ear” there made her try to avoid Valora altogether. During one of those moments, When Aydalin cleverly avoided Valora by hiding underneath a table someone caught her. With their toe. On her ass.

“Oof!” She exclaimed and fell from her crouched position. 

The table rattled and the offending toe’s owner bent down to look underneath it, only to be met with a red haired girl, rubbing her sore backside. The tow-owner giggled at the sight and asked:

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding.” Aydalin grumbled.

“Ah. I hid from her too when I first arrived.” The toe owner spied over the tabletop and continued. “The coast is clear, come with me!”

A hand was thrust in Aydalin’s face and while she was still insecure about the new face, she took it and was briskly swept away into the treeline not far away. A few steps in, out of immediate sight of the camp, they stopped and Aydalin’s rescuer and buttkicker gestured to a log on which they both sat down. Kind blue eyes met Aydalin’s vibrant green and with a smile, the kicker of butts tucked a stray lock of ashy brown hair behind her pointed ear.

“I’m Nirasha. You must be Aydalin.”

When Aydalin silently nodded in response, Nirasha bumped her shoulder against Aydalin’s and said:

“Don’t worry, it’ll get better. You just need to find your place and Valora will get off your back. Mostly.” She winked. “Creators know it took me a long time when I first arrived.”

“You’re an outsider too?”

“Yeah, I’m from Cumberland. Ran away from the alienage when my parents were killed. I have been with Lavellan for 2 years now.” Despite the sadness in her eyes, Nirasha’s face were kind and understanding, making Aydalin feel hopeful about her own future with the clan, however temporary, and she smiled at her new friend who continued to speak. “In the beginning I was lost. Didn’t know what to do or how to help. Couldn’t fight or hunt to save my life.” 

The women chuckled together and Aydalin felt a connection taking hold with the young woman beside her. 

“Valora went after me the same way she is after you now, but it stopped once I found my place.”

“That sounds nice.” Aydalin replied. “I’m thinking about joining the guardians or something.”

“You can fight?”

“Yes.” Remembering to stick to her story, she quickly added: “Another slave taught me how to defend myself, maybe those skills can be useful.” 

“I wish I could fight. I’m just gathering whatever fruit or plants I can with a group of children and when the snow falls I help the crafters by mending clothes and other things.”

“That’s important too! I wish I knew things like that and didn’t have to rely on others to be able to eat.”

“I can teach you if you want? I don’t know anything about hunting, you’ll have to ask one of the hunters about that.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Absolutely! Us _shems_ need to stick together.” Nirasha winked at Aydalin and giggled. “You can come with me and the children tomorrow if you’d like, and I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“I’d love to. I just need to speak to Cammael to make sure I’m healed enough.”

“Then it’s settled!”

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the muffled sounds from the camp and enjoyed looking at the birds, fluttering from branch to branch in the trees above them. Aydalin’s mind had wandered and eventually been invaded by thoughts of the hatred Valora sent her way.

“I just don’t get why she hate me so much!” She suddenly blurted out. “What did _I_ ever do to her?”

“You did nothing.” Nirasha answered. “Valora is… complicated and has a problem with everyone not born Dalish. If she were Keeper, she would turn everyone away.” 

“But why?”

“I’m not sure. Something happened to her in her birth clan. Rumor has it that humans attacked them and that she saw her entire family slaughtered in front of her. Maybe that is what she is reminded of whenever someone doesn’t look ‘elfy’ enough or comes from the city.” 

With wide eyes, Aydalin stared at her, shock leaving her unable to speak. 

“Or she’s just an ass. Who knows?” Nirasha continued. 

A nervous laughter bubbled up within Aydalin and she looked fondly to Nirasha, thanking her for cheering her up with a simple look. 

“Tell you what? Since Valora has found someone new to pick on and I kind of like you, why don’t you take this?”

Nirasha raised her hands to her neck and removed a necklace, handing it to Aydalin.

“It’s a wolf fang. Guards against evil spirits.” She said with a wink. 

Aydalin had already learned of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf, and how there were statues depicting him outside every Dalish settlement, keeping evil spirits at bay. She laughed, carefully putting the necklace on, letting the fang rest between her breasts beneath her long-sleeved, beige tunic, just like Nirasha had worn it. 

“Thank you Nirasha, it’s wonderful.”

“It’s the least I could do. And you can call me N’asha, everyone does, but especially my friends.”

Beaming, Aydalin quickly embraced her new friend before feeling confident enough to ask:

“Is it alright if I stick around until dinner? I can help!”

“Yes, I could use some help anyways. Come we need to fix these baskets for tomorrow. One of the kids tripped and squished the entire stack.”

The went together towards the table Aydalin had previously hid beneath, pulled up a pair of stools and began repairing the baskets.  It was tricky at first, but once she had the hang of it, Aydalin and Nirasha could easily spend the time talking and getting to know each other while letting their hands do the work. By dinnertime they were down to only two baskets, five already repaired and neatly stacked. The two baskets Aydalin had worked on were crooked and sparse but were deemed good enough by her friend. After dinner, Aydalin joined Cammael in his aravel to receive even more education on the world she now lived in, beginning with the traditions of the clan, eventually coming to the subject of vallaslin, one they had discussed intensely before. 

“Look, I understand their purpose and all. Them setting us apart from the humans as well as the city elves. But I can’t come back to earth with _tattoos_ on my face.”

“They also unite us, and show that we will never again submit our way of life. It is a source of strength-”

“I know. It’s not the tradition that I’m objecting to, it’s the tattoo-my-face part of the deal.”

“The vallaslin needs to be visible, it has come to mean protection as well as all the other things we have discussed.”

“What do you mean protection?” 

“The Dalish have a reputation, one we are not inclined to alter too much, and a vallaslin, marking an elf as Dalish might stay a human’s hand or make a Tevinter slaver overlook you.” Aydalin frowned at this new revelation, but before she could answer, Cammael continued. “This rite of passage shows the person’s dedication to the clan, as well as to the gods and what we have lost. Without a vallaslin, one is not considered an adult and are not allowed to take part in important meetings, especially during an Arlathvhen.” He looked her straight in the eyes, a frown building between his brows further implying the seriousness of the issue.

The words finally finished processing and the realization hit her.

“I _have_ to get one.”

“It is a tricky situation. The Keeper and I know that you are only here temporarily, but those who do not would expect it, yes. If it were a shorter time until we could confer with the other clans, maybe it wouldn't matter, but unfortunately it does."

Blanched, Aydalin stared at him in disbelief.

"You can't be serious."

"I am very serious. When you find your place in the clan and are considered a full member, it will be expected of you to receive it. If you do not, the clan will see it as a rejection of our culture and heritage and will request your expulsion."

Disbelief was replaced with anger as he finished his sentence, intricate face tattoos being the last thing she wanted to bring back into her own world.

"So I have to get a face tattoo just to keep this facade in place?!"

"Unfortunately, yes."

Fuming with anger, Aydalin left the aravel and stalked towards the one she shared with Mira. Laying on her bedroll, it was a while before her agitated mind had calmed enough to realize that Valora had been looking elsewhere whenever Aydalin had been around her. Despite her previous anger, she fell asleep with a smile on her lips, fondly holding the wolf’s fang in her hand.

  
  
  



	8. Dark Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm BACK. So incredibly sorry for the long wait. But you know how it is, life gets in the way and then you need to redo EVERYTHING. I'm still not exactly where I wanted to be before I started posting again, but I felt like it so here it is!  
> I hope you enjoy, and if you're a bit confused, I've updated earlier chapters and some are completely different from before, so make sure you check those out!
> 
> TW: Mentions of physical and sexual abuse

The smell of breakfast haunted Aydalin’s dreams and when she woke up, she hurriedly put on her leggings and tunic. Walking towards the fire, she wrapped a cloak across one of her shoulders and fastened it with a belt around her waist. It’s fur-trimmed edges tickled her nose and she sneezed, getting the attention of everyone currently getting breakfast. She sat down next to Cammael as the chatter of the early risers rose back up again, intending to ask him if she could join Nirasha for the day, but he started speaking before she had a chance to bring it up.

“There is a group heading to Hasmal to trade today. You and Nelras are going with them.”

Aydalin’s heart sank as she realized that she wouldn’t be able to join Nirasha today, and she schooled her features so as not to give away her disappointment before she asked why she had to go.

“You need to see with your own eyes the difference in how we elves are treated when we wear vallslin. It might warm you up to the idea.”

Aydalin could easily see the reasoning behind it, and nodded solemnly, realizing that she needed to go along with it whether she liked it or not. Before she left towards Nelras and the others who were to travel to the human city, she asked Cammael about the possibility of her joining Nirasha when they returned, which were to be in a few days, and he answered that it would be alright, provided that she wouldn’t injure herself further on the journey. Slightly happier, she went to her newest friend to tell her the good news before she joined the others by a small cart, pulled by a pair of halla and went on the road towards the settlement.

 

The group took turns riding in the cart, which contained an assortment of crafted weapons, armor and trinkets, as it would be too heavy for the halla to pull otherwise. They walked mostly in silence, and when it was Aydalin’s turn to ride in the cart, she took out her notebook and wrote down as many lyrics as she could remember. When they neared Hasmal, the day started to come to an end and the group made camp a respectable distance from the city limits. Since the weather was still nice, they didn’t bother putting up the tents and slept beneath the stars around a small fire. It was cold, but since Nelras was with them, they needn’t worry, for he had placed fire runes on the ground beneath their bedrolls, making it bearable. At the break of dawn, they quickly gathered their things and went towards the city, hoping to get a good spot at the marketplace just outside the walls. Before they reached the area, Nelras quietly told her to stay with the group and not go exploring alone, no matter what. With a nod from Aydalin, he seemed satisfied and they returned to walking in silence.

The natural decay of autumn leaves and earth was slowly replaced by that of rotting food and excrement. Everyone in the group grimaced as the smell hit them but as they got closer to the marketplace, they either got used to the odor or it significantly lessened around them. The road widened and eventually disappeared into the packed dirt of the marketplace, where a few merchants had already put up their stalls. The group and their cart set up near the middle of the area and as they began to unpack, Aydalin observed the people around them. The few who deigned to look at them had suspicion and animosity in their eyes and despite their obvious hostility, no one dared approach them. As the early morning turned into day, the marketplace had become packed with different stalls, the spots next to the Dalish group being the last to be taken, and Aydalin couldn’t help but let her eyes scan the merchants’ wares, intrigued by their beauty and craftsmanship. Nelras seemed to sense her restlessness and offered to take her on a short walk among the stalls to which she agreed eagerly. He motioned to one of the warriors that had accompanied them who quietly joined them on their walk. Aydalin quickly found a stall where they sold glass beads and she rushed forward without a thought of those accompanying her, to look at the beads with wonder. The beads sparkled like gemstones in the sunlight and she carefully held one hand against her wrap to keep it from accidentally knocking over anything and extended her hand to touch a particularly beautiful variety of purple beads with gold streaks when another hand shot out and grabbed her roughly by the wrist.

“Keep your hands to yourself rabbit, or I will cut it off!”

Aydalin’s head snapped up in surprise and met the angry eyes of a human, disgust clearly on his face. When she didn’t answer, his face twisted and his next words were a mix of spit and rage.

“Are you stupid or something? We don’t want no grubby knife-ears touching the wares. You’re lucky nobody saw you reach for them or I’d take you behind the tavern for lowering their value.”

Aydalin’s eyes were wide with fear and she pulled to free her hand from the man’s grip. The angry merchant held on tighter, slowly crushing her wrist in the process and when she hissed with pain, he grinned wickedly.

“Maybe I should teach you a lesson, _rattus_ , so that you never forget how to behave around your betters.”

No one in the crowd around her had seemed to hear, or if they heard, they didn’t care, but it was at this moment that she heard steps, feeling two bodies close up behind her, and her breath quickened while her heart had started to tap-dance inside her chest.

“Release our sister _shem_ , or your next breath will be your last.”

Anxiety and fear gave way for relief and security when she heard Nelras’ voice. It dripped with venom as he stared the merchant down, whose eyes flicked from their faces to the warrior’s hips, where undoubtedly, hands hovered above loosened daggers. The merchant paled and released Aydalin’s wrist in a pushing motion, making her stumble backwards into the warrior’s chest, who gripped her shoulders to keep her from falling. After a few moments of scornful looks between the parties, they turned and walked back towards their own stall.

“I told you not to wander off.” Nelras angrily muttered at her, trying to keep their conversation from being noticed by the warrior who accompanied them.

Aydalin shook from the previous release of adrenaline and when she said she was sorry, her voice wavered and cracked. Nelras looked at her and when his eyes took in her wide eyes and shaking form, his anger dissipated to be replaced by compassion. Putting his arm around her waist he steered her towards their cart to sit down, waving the warrior away to give them some privacy.

“Em ir abelas, Nelras. I didn’t realize it would be so… harsh.”

“Tel’Abelas. It must be hard for you, coming from a place where this kind of prejudice does not exist, and have to take precautions you didn’t before. But I need you to promise to not go off on your own until you’re ready.”

“Em shivasa.”

He smiled at her promise and gently noted that her Elvhen was impressively good, making her blush and reply softly:

“Ma serannas, Arani. Emem On ghi’len.”

Nelras sat with her for a while, stroking her reassuringly over her back until it was time for lunch. It was a dry but filling meal of jerky and bread, and when they had all finished, Nelras announced that he was going to the alienage to see if they had some news. To Aydalin, he added that it would be a good time to see if they could get in touch with any scholars or experts on the Fade. With three warriors in tow, the small party made their way through the city, the smell of garbage and filth increasing with every step. They came upon a small area where a few stalls presented a few wares, most commonly there were food and spices in various forms; burnt, stale or even moldy bread, wilting herbs and vegetables, sprouting potatoes and what little meat there were, were tinged green. At the stalls a few elves lingered, dirty, ragged clothes hanging off their skeletal frames. They seemed to be debating among themselves what they should spend their coin on, their heated words drifting towards the Dalish party.

“We need _food_ , Gawen, not herbs.”

“These herbs save lives, Shira.”

“There will be no lives to save if we starve to death!”

“We cant just let them suffer. There’ll be-.”

The man stopped himself when they spotted the group of wild elves approaching them, making the woman turn around in surprise. Their eyes filled with what could only be described as awe as they took in the Dalish’s appearance, the fierce vallaslin keeping even the most prejudiced human at a distance. The woman found her words the quickest and quickly curtsied before them, lowering her head as she welcomed them.

“A-Andaran atish’an, Elnien.”

“Savhalla, lethallin.”

The woman’s mouth hung open and the man mouthed the last word as in reverence before they both realized what they were doing and quickly bowed and curtsied all over again before retreating to the common tongue.

“What can we do for you?”

“We would like to speak to your hahren, as well as trade with your people.”

“That can be arranged.” The man said, turning towards Nelras with a serious face. “I will guide you if one of you stays with my sister.”

“Very well.”

One of the three warriors stayed with the woman as Aydalin, Nelras and the two remaining ones followed the man, who introduced himself as Gawen, towards a large gate, its doors open to the city. It looked heavy and the big wooden beam standing against the wall beside it suggested that it could be barred. Aydalin felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered what Cammael had told her about the city alienages; that the gates would shut and be barred from the outside, leaving the elves trapped within with no way to procure food. All in the name of stopping any “unrest” within the alienage’s walls. Aydalin now quickly realized that any “unrest” would be due to poor working conditions, starvation and a general lack of what she earlier would have called basic human rights. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Basic _human_ rights that did not extend to the elven citizens of any nation or city state in this world. Aydalin felt her heart thump loudly in her chest, a scowl forming on her face as they passed the gates. Rage coursed through her veins, making her shake at the unfairness of it all. All this because of a pair of pointed ears. As they walked, Aydalin looked closer at the people they met, all elves, all dirty, wearing clothes that hung limply off shoulders that slouched just a little too much, be it either from heavy loads or distress, she couldn’t tell. Compared to the city elves, the Dalish seemed taller, more confident in themselves, despite the two being roughly the same size. The Dalish did not cower or hide, they were proud, fierce, and would never again allow the People to submit. Noticing this difference, Aydalin wondered briefly why the city elves never left the cities to join the Dalish, but the answer was readily available to her mind; the Dalish were nomads and thus hard to find, leaving those who fled the alienages to fend for themselves in an unforgiving wilderness with no survival skills to speak of. Elves who had spent their entire lives on their knees, slaving away to humans that paid them too little, killed and abused them too often and shunned them into believing they were nothing. But they were not nothing. They were people just as much as the humans outside the gates. They needed only a little hope, a sanctuary, where they could lay down their burdens and feel safe. 

Aydalin’s inner ramblings were cut short as Gawen, who since he had been called lethallin, stood a little taller and had a proud spark in his eyes, led them through a particularly narrow street. The buildings loomed overhead, several stories tall and seemed to support each other like a very large house of cards, threatening to cave in at the lightest breeze. The street opened up to a small square, which was dominated by the largest tree Aydalin had ever seen. She had never seen one, but this was how she imagined a redwood tree would look like, much taller than the buildings around her and the trunk was wide enough for a small car to drive through. Its branches shadowed the square and lessened the impact of the sun. During summer, it would be a refuge for anyone seeking to cool off in the sweltering heat, but now, in the middle of winter, it was chilly and people who would later seek the tree’s shade, found their comfort in their homes instead.

They walked swiftly across the square before stopping in front of a simple door. Gawen lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against an area of it that had been polished until it shone by the many years of troubled elves seeking the hahren’s advice. It was only a moment before the door opened and they were met by a white-haired elf, his wrinkles telling them that he knew how to survive in this town.

“Ah, Gawen. What can I do for-” he stopped suddenly and his eyes flicked from face to face of Gawen’s followers, only now registering who was standing on his doorstep.

“Good afternoon Hahren,” Gawen said and gestured towards Nelras. “This is Nelras, first of clan Lavellan, and he asked to speak to you.”

They had apparently had time to introduce themselves when Aydalin had let her mind wander and by the time Gawen had finished speaking, the hahren’s eyes were wide in surprise. He quickly found himself and managed to bow his head in reverence to them, making all four of them wince at the display.

“Andaran atish’an, Aranien. It is an honor to have you.” His elvhen stumbled, but it was sincerely meant and Nelras inclined his head in response before the elf continued. “I am Lahlas, hahren of the elves in Hasmal. Please, do come in.”

“Thank you Lahlas,” Nelras said and nodded to their companions to stay outside guarding the door.

Aydalin and Nelras was guided to a round table just inside the door and they gratefully sat down. Lathlas plopped down across from them and eyed them with a hint of suspicion.

“What can I do for you? It is not often we get visits by your kind.”

The words “your kind” grated on Aydalin’s nerves, weren’t they all elves? The only way to escape the oppression of humans was to unite and fight back. Reclaim what was taken and demand to be treated with respect.

“I am aware that the Dalish does not always think of the elves in the cities as worth their while.” Nelras acknowledged. “But I am culturing a different attitude in Lavellan, one I hope will spread.” As Lathlas nodded, Nelras continued. “We’re here for two reasons. Firstly; to trade, we’ve set up a stall in the big market but would like to have your permission to trade directly with your craftsmen.”

“Your coin won’t be any good for the humans, no matter how many things you manage to sell.” Lathlas interjected.

“Ah, but you see, we don’t charge gold for our wares. We are well aware that the closer to Tevinter you get, the less our coin is worth. A dagger of ours is easily worth half a pound of sugar or a small wheel of cheese. The trading won’t be plenty, but it will be what we need.”

“I understand,” Lathlas replied. “And secondly?”

“This,” Nelras gestured to Aydalin. “Is Aydalin, a friend. She needs to get in touch with a scholar who has studied the effects of the Fade. I was hoping you would know where to send our letter.”

“I’m not sure, I would need to-”

Lathlas cut himself off as raised voices was heard from outside the door.

“Hahren!” They shouted. “Are you there hahren?!”

He moved swiftly to the door and when he saw what was outside, he paled and made room for whoever was on the other side. Through the door came a pair of skinny elves, carrying another almost unconscious elf between them. They barely spared a glance for Aydalin or Nelras when they moved out of the way, as they hurried to put the injured elf on the table. As they lowered the elf down on his stomach, Aydalin saw the back of his shirt in shreds and what was visible of his back was a mess of blood and gore. Barely holding the contents of her stomach, she turned away from the sight.

“What happened?” Lathlas asked sharply.

“Stood between the foreman and Ellia again.”

Lathlas’ eyes hardened and quickly barked a few orders to one of the men who had entered.

“Ellia shouldn’t be unprotected. Find her, and bring her home. If anything has happened to her, bring her here.” The man ran out of the building as Lathlas turned to the other man. “Bring elfroot if you can find any, but be quick about it.”

Again alone with his Dalish guests, he pleaded with them.

“If there is anything you can do to help…?”

“Of course” Nelras replied without hesitation.

At Lathlas’ instruction, they cleaned as much of the man’s wounds as possible with clean cloths and sponges. They all came back red with blood, but most of the dirt was gone and whatever remained was insignificant. As soon as they deemed themselves done and stopped prodding the wounds, they welled up with blood again, obscuring the extent of the injuries.

As they cleaned, the elven man sent for elfroot returned and Lathlas ground some of the leaves into a thick paste which he applied to the cleaned areas. The man seemed to stabilize and Lathlas distractedly sent his Dalish guest on their way with the promise of sending their letters to a scholar he’d heard of, if he could find out where to send them that is.

They walked back through the city, away from the cloying odor of decay that had permeated the air around the alienage. As they exited the city gate, the stench gave way to the crispness of frost in the air and the natural musk of decomposing leaves. The three of them joined the others in tearing down their stall and then made their way back towards their earlier campsite, Aydalin being unusually quiet and contemplative as they pitched their tents on top of Nelras’ heat runes. The female elf she was to share with showed her how to do it, but then did most of the work as she took too long on her own. Dinner was more bread and jerky, which were handed out when assigning a watch rotation. She wasn’t included and for that she was grateful, but a small part of her was irked that they thought her so fragile. Swallowing the last of her meal, she quietly returned to her tent and fell into a fitful sleep.

_She tries to make herself as small as possible as he towers over her. Her knees hit the tiled floor of his kitchen and she realizes she’s on her knees in front of a shouting and furious Aidan. She should have known better. Yes. No. Doesn’t she understand that the rule is only there because he cares? Yes. No. Tears stream down her face and she opens her mouth to explain that it was just a call to her mother, on mothers’ day, but his fist connects with her jaw before she can speak. There are stars in front of her eyes, if only she could reach out and touch them she could… Look at what she made him do. Her jaw is throbbing and it gets worse as a hand closes over her throat._

Aydalin woke up. She couldn’t move. Her arms were locked to her sides and she was afraid to even blink in case she fell back asleep. Her heart was peppering in her chest and sweat had started to soak the shift she slept in. She was panting. No. She was hyperventilating. Forcing her hands up to her face, she covered her mouth and started breathing through her nose. The forced slow breaths distracted her from the earlier images enough to allow her to move again. Slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed and her breathing returned to normal. Too anxious to fall back asleep straight away, she got up and stepped barefoot out of the tent, thankful that her bunkmate was a heavy sleeper. The cold soil shocked her, but also grounded her in what now constituted as her reality. The absurdity of her being an entire world away from Aidan made her laugh slightly, drawing the attention of the watch. She was literally as far away from him as she could ever be and she would never let anything like that happen again - the thought was comforting in it’s clarity. Waving his concerns away, she took a few breaths of the frigid night air and stepped back inside. The rest of the night was dreamless.

* * *

 

The next day they all made their way into the city, and the ones left behind yesterday grimaced at the smell that only got more intense the closer you got to the alienage. Curiously, the smell stopped inside the gates - something Aydalin hadn’t noticed the day before. The group quickly set up in the shadow of the vhenadahl and Aydalin and Nelras went in search of Lathlas. When they had found him and passed on their letter, they asked about the man from yesterday, now curiously absent from Lathlas’ table.

“He is improving,” he answered with a nod. “As well as can be expected.”

“We brought something that might help in the future,” Aydalin offered and held out a satchel full to the brim with elfroot she had picked around their camp and on the way to the city.

Lathlas’ eyes shone with gratitude and he clasped both Nelras and Aydalin’s hands before accepting the gift.

The rest of the day went by in a blur and by the time their shadows were long and spindly, they had acquired several different spices and jewelery in exchange for their crafts. They packed up and said goodbye to every one who came to see them off before making their way through the city a third time. The heavy air lessened as they neared the outer wall and the promise of clean air and a warm meal spurred their steps. Just as they were about to leave the city, a hand closed around Aydalin’s arm and yanked her backwards. She yelped helplessly and scrambled to regain her balance but was forced to lean heavily on the guard to avoid falling.

“Where do you think you’re going rabbit?” the guard holding her growled. “Trying to sneak off with the Dalish were you?”

She struggled against him, but his grip was strong and Aydalin was still weakened from her previous injuries. An angry buzz in the air put the hair on her arms on end when Nelras discretely reached for his staff, ready to at a moment’s notice release his magic on the human man.

“Let her go, shem.”

“Why should I? You can’t just walk in here and take our elves.”

“ _Your_ elves?” Aydalin snapped, and straightening, she met the guard’s cold eyes with her own furiously green. “I am no one’s, and neither are they,” she continued with a nod towards the alienage. “Now unhand me!”

The guard was just about to answer when a commanding voice was heard over the chatter of people.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

Instantly, six Dalish elves turned to him with fury sparking out of their eyes.

“Let her go, captain.” Nelras commanded calmly.

“Does she have a permit?” the captain asked skeptically.

“A permit?”

“All elves need a permit to leave the city,” the captain explained. “Slavers don’t care about borders and a lone elf is an easy prey. It is for their own safety that the rules are in place.”

“She is not from this city and should not be denied exit from it. Especially when she is with her clan.”

“She is Dalish?” he faltered. “But she doesn’t have the… You know…?” He gestured to his face and reddened slightly. “Markings.”

Nelras raised an eyebrow and looked at the humans in contempt.

“We are not born with vallaslin, captain,” he countered. “She has not received them yet.”

“Oh,” the captain hesitated while he looked Aydalin over. When his investigation ended, he gestured to his subordinate. “Let her go. As you can clearly see, she is Dalish.”

He quickly turned his back and stomped off, leaving six livid elves, with their hands on their weapons, in the hands of one human. A human who quickly released Aydalin and stepped away, palms facing them as if to try and appease them. They quickly left the human settlement and as the adrenaline started to wear off, Aydalin started to shake. Nelras laid his arm around her and they walked silently side by side until they reached the campsite where Aydalin quickly retreated to her tent to avoid the looks from the others. She couldn’t tell if they were sympathetic or pitying, annoyed or watchful. She felt like a child, aimlessly blundering through the world, refusing to listen to those who knew it simply because it was uncomfortable to her. None of the others had been accosted during their short stay. Was it because of their tattoos? She wasn’t entirely sure it was them entirely, there could be something about the way they walked; head held high and proud, never cowering. But then again, their posture made sure that their vallaslin showed, and maybe, just maybe, they weren’t such a bad idea. She was free to choose a pattern she liked, and when she got back home, there were several ways to remove tattoos wasn’t there? With her thoughts spinning around in her head it was quite a while before she managed to fall asleep.

_The car door presses against her right side. Funny, she could have sworn she sat on the left side. Which way is up? Wrong way is up. Left is up. Why is left up? Her shin is itching and she reaches to relieve it. Something is stuck in my leg, she thinks. Her right hand comes away bloody and she remembers with a shock that it was never something stuck in her leg. Her leg stuck out. A compound fracture. The pain hits her as she remembers. She screams. Outside of the window closest to her is only darkness, small cracks moves across the glass, expanding with every breath she takes._  
_“Dad!” she yells but there is no answer. His face is obscured by a crushed car and his seat is somehow beside her, his chest is moving at least._  
_“Mom!” She yells but there is no answer. She can see Mother’s elbow in the mess, but not much else._  
_Her face is sweaty and blue choppy hair sticks to it. It is possible that there is blood as well. Turning the hair back into the red she have worked so hard to get rid of. Her mind is foggy, but she remembers. She remembers the other car. How she had recognized it. A car she thought she’d escaped. She had met Aidan’s angry eyes just a moment before he hit their side. His face had changed to horror then. She needs to get help. Ambulance and firemen. Where’s her phone? In her purse. Where is her purse? She cant find it. The glass cracks and through the hole rushes water. Water from the ditch in which they lay. How much water is there? Oh God please let it stop. She scrambles to get her seatbelt off but it’s stuck. The water rises. It reaches her shoulder. She needs to get out! It touches her ear and she’s frantic. She turns her head and reaches as far as she can. The water reaches the corner of her mouth. What if it doesn’t stop?! What can she do?! The water finally stops. It’s in her mouth. Her nose barely above the water. She bangs her hand against something. It’s loud. Bang it again. And again. And again. Hours. Eternity. Why aren’t they here yet?_

Her eyes opened to darkness and panic for the second time in two days. She carefully repeated the steps of yesterday, forcing even breath and serenity, reminding herself that it was a long time ago and the wounds are long since healed. When she could move again, she reached for her right leg and inspected the scar there. The skin dented a little bit and the skin was harder. All evidence of an incident that had long since passed. The stuffy air of the tent was stifling and she needed some fresh air. Like the night before, she quietly stepped out of the tent, this time with her boots loosely laced on her feet. The rustle of the tentflaps alerted Nelras who was apparently on watch. He looked at her curiously and raised an eyebrow in a silent question before motioning for her to join him. Now more prepared for the chilly air, Aydalin went to him and sighed heavily as she sat.

“Bad dream?” he asked quietly.

Aydalin could only nod.

“That bad?” His voice wavered slightly, and Aydalin looked at his face to see concern and sympathy written on it. No pity.

“It was a memory,” she murmured, not wanting anyone but Nelras hear. “One I thought I left behind me many years ago.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” There was a slight pause before her voice broke and she whispered. “Yes.”

Nelras shared his blanket with her and put his arm comfortingly around her waist as she began to talk.

“It was the day my parents died. There was an accident and we landed in water. I couldn’t move and I-”

She tried to hide her face in her hands, but Nelras saw her shoulders shake and heard her gulping breaths. He squeezed just a little bit tighter and she continued.

“I didn’t even notice when they died. One minute they were there, and the next they weren’t and I didn’t even acknowledge it.”

“Was there anything you could have done?” Nelras asked quietly.

“No,” she sighed. “I just wish I could have been there.”

“I understand,” Nelras began, “if you ever need to talk about a nightmare or anything else, you can always come talk to me.”

They shared a small smile and Aydalin squeezed his hand in wordless thanks. The silence stretched between them comfortably, the only sounds those of the wind through the trees and the rustling of fabric as the elves around them shifted in their sleep. The tranquility of such an otherwise violent world soothed the frayed edges of Aydalin’s mind and she was soon ready to head back to sleep. As she made to sit up, Nelras stopped her.

“Does this happen often? The dreams I mean.” He was frowning and looked at her as if she was in danger. Confused, Aydalin shook her head slowly.

“No. Not really. They’re just nightmares. They’ll go away eventually. They did the last time.”

“I see,” he said, the worried crease between his brows smoothing, “Well, good night Aydalin.”

“Good night.”

She made her way back to her tent and fell into a deep sleep, undisturbed by further nightmares.

 

The next day, they all packed up and went back to the clan, their cart heavy with cheeses and spices instead of carvings and weapons. In the shaded parts of the forest moved a figure silently as they followed the group. They carefully noted where they went, and when the group finally neared the camp, the figure left hastily to report back to its masters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Em ir abelas - I am very sorry. (Lit. Me very sorrow)  
> Tel’Abelas - Don’t be sorry. (Lit. Not/do not sorrow)  
> Em shivasa - I promise. (lit. Me swear)  
> Ma serannas, Arani. Emem On ghi’len. - Thank you, my friend. I had a good teacher.  
> A-Andaran atish’an, Elnien - Welcome to our place of peace, our friends.  
> Savhalla, lethallin. - Greetings kin.
> 
> All elven is thanks to FenXshiral!


End file.
